Magma
by soxx
Summary: You can see that Sam is now eyeing you expectantly, yet you don’t know exactly what she’s expecting. CarlyxSam, very highly induced by iMake Sam Girlier. One-shot


"Carly, can I just turn around now?"

You peer down into exasperated blue-green, illuminated by long, soft platinum blonde hair and again, your heart shoots up into your throat and the "No," you mean to respond with playfully comes out with a large lack of air.

You know what you're feeling, and you don't think the simple change of hair style caused it.

When Sam lets out an exaggerated sigh and something a little below your bladder lurches, you know it only means trouble.

You clap the straightener once for some kind of effect as you circle around your best friend, while she sits facing away from the bathroom mirror.

You've always wondered what Sam would look like with her nearly waist length hair all straight and smooth, and now you know just how gorgeous she looks and also something else: she's doing things to you, and no matter how nice it feels, it's driving you up the wall _and_ terrifying you, horrifying you.

This isn't supposed to happen to _you_, Carly Shay. You hope and think and pray it's a one time deal, that Sam is the only person who's not a boy—you find yourself unable to say you find another girl a little more attractive than you should, but then again, you just recognized these feelings literally two days ago and you're not all that comfortable with them so far—that this will happen with. You're pretty sure, but still.

"And…" You drag the flat iron down the last insanely long piece of Sam's hair, and happen to brush your knuckles across the small of her back beneath her tank top in the process. It sets you're body on fire, and you imagine the sweat threatening to break out of you something like magma. "Done." You grin, out of giddiness, and you're relieved that at least half of it is because you're so excited about Sam's transition into the land of femininity, no matter what it may be doing to your confused, obnoxious hormones.

You know when Sam quirks an eye brow and nods approvingly at her reflection, muttering a "Not bad," it's the equivalent to any other tomboy's mouth agape in astonishment. But Sam's not like any other girl, let alone any other tomboy.

In fact, it's not like she ever really _was_ a tomboy. Well, as of late. You already saw her itching to switch her image a little bit before you confronted her. In all honesty, you're glad you could guide her through this. You feel like a MADE coach and a supportive best friend. And a dirty, 40-year-old man co-existing with a herd of cockroaches in a 40x40 square foot apartment with the way you keep _looking down her shirt. _

You watch her freshly painted hot pink nails skimming through her hair, and you can almost feel her reveling at how soft it is. You were pretty amazed yourself.

You're also amazed at how well hot pink looks on her with the blonde hair, even if it's just her nails.

When you glance up your vanity table mirror again, you're eyes bug out of your head because you find a very similar color adorning your cheeks.

"Um, it's kind of hot in here, I'm gonna go open a window," you squeak out, a little tight and nervous, but Sam is already sitting down daintily in your bed and searching for the remote. It's a little weird, since you're used to her pretending she's Superman's stunt double and belly-flopping across the room, but you shake it off.

The cool air of dusk pools in through your small window, and as you hold your face up to the slight breeze and exhale, you feel an urge to look over at Sam right now.

The air is only hitting the ride side of your face and your neck, since you tied your hair into a floppy bun hours ago, and Sam's eyes are already on you, armed with a mixture of suspicion, curiosity, and… panic?

"What? What's wrong?"

"Um… it's stupid. Nevermind."

"Sam, I'm very well sure it's _not _stupid, so just say it."

"No, it definitely is, just don't even worry about it." She turns back to the TV, so you turn back to the city below my window seat. It's like your sitting on top of the world.

You whip around again, half to be comical, half because you're sure Sam's eyes are on you again. Why else would The Feeling—as you've dubbed it—be swimming around the lining of your gut?

She's caught, you were right, and so she breaks into laughter and throws her arm over her eyes as she exposes her neck to you, at which you have a sudden mental image of painting a trail of burgundy almonds down, and the throbbing that follows almost winds you.

You could get used to this, but at the same time, it seems like you never will.

The city is alive in your right ear as Sam's giggles inhabit the left, and a smirk plants itself on your face. It's one of those pretty spring nights, and despite your crazy hormones and Sam wanting to be a girly girl, for a moment you've pursued happiness and it's like cool waters flowing through your veins.

Sam's giggles still going strong draw closer and closer as you fly onto your bed, on top of her, and it only makes her laugh harder.

You can feel the warmth and smoothness of her legs through your t-shirt, and she looks at you with her head still titled back, through her bottom lashes. The throbbing returns, again, but suddenly her throat is concealed and your thoughts become easier to whisk away.

"So."

"So."

"Whatcha gigglin' about?" You add an innocent tilt of the head to your inquiry. You need to know what's on your best friend's mind; you can't bear to let Sam keep anything from you. Because you can help her with anything, and she knows, you know she knows, so you've come to the conclusion that the thing that's on her mind right now is vital to you and her transformation, some way, some how.

"Well, frankly…"

You can't possibly guess what she's about to say. But what she does say makes you're heart beat at such dangerous speeds you swear it's going faster than the light shimmering in her hair.

"What if he, like, by some insane chance, says yes, and he, y'know…"

"I know what?"

"Wants to make out." It feels like forever until she decides to be direct. And this isn't her newfound girliness tripping her up; you can see that this is actually bothering her.

You can see that Sam is now eyeing you expectantly, yet you don't know exactly what she's expecting.

"And?" You're almost going crazy from forcing yourself to play it so cool.

"And, like, I don't know how exactly you… do that…" she finishes meekly.

"Uh, well, it's pretty self explanatory?" You offer, because honestly, you don't know how exactly you do that either but you have a feeling you get the gist of it a little better than Sam, some how. You suppose she doesn't know how to be all girly and delicate in a kiss, that's what she's freaking out about.

You try not to picture Sam attacking someone with her lips hungrily, although you do anyway, and jeez, you question for a moment how much longer you're pulse can stay in this quickened state until you implode, cell by cell.

"Sam," your voice almost cracks, and you imagine how terrible that would be because Sam seems to be comfortable with this conversation now that she spit it out and you just don't want to reveal how awkward and jittery and fluttery she's making you. "I'm sure any kiss you give a boy will be fine. There isn't really a girly way to _kiss, _I mean, you're tongue skills aren't the same as your table manners."

You imagine Sam attacking a boy with her lips hungrily, and you're suddenly jealous. Of the boy.

God, this is getting out of control.

Wait.

An idea strikes you. Well, more like where this conversation is going, exactly.

"That's not what I'm nervous about. I don't know what I'm doing in general; you saw the whole episode with Fredward's first non-existent kiss."

Oh god, Oh god, could she be throwing you a larger opportunity?!

You gather yourself, all the coolness and calmness in you, you summon the works of the darkening spring sky, and you say, "Well… we could, y'know…" You cannot believe these words are pouring out of your mouth. You can feel the sweat breaking through your forehead, you're face grows overheated. You've never been more nervous in your life, not even when you were onstage about to sing the national anthem in front of your school in the seventh grade.

"We could what…?" The painful thing about her words is that she seriously doesn't know what you're referring to. Or so it seems.

You croak out the words, "Try it."

Sam chuckles, through the nose, through her lips, and says, like it's the most ridiculous thing, like she's never possibly imagined it, "But we're both girls."

And you suddenly feel very hurt and stupid. "Just an idea. To help you out; I would be pretty nervous if I was going to go out with a guy and he wanted to. Like, it wouldn't mean anything. And you know every girl does it."

She sits up so you're side is now mashed against her bony ankles. You scan up her smooth, shiny shins to her smooth, shiny thighs and reel a little on the spot. You want to do this so badly; you want to run your hands up and down the girl like crazy. You don't know why, but it's all you could possibly ask for at the immediate moment.

Her eyes are aimed at the other half of the empty, deflated deep purple quilt beside you guys, sunken in at the points you're both weighing down. She's processing your great idea.

She gives another chuckle, through the nose, and says, "Well, okay," with a small, scared grin.

You would swear this isn't even Sam in front of you, but you've seen that grin before. This is literally the second idea _you've _ever come up with that Sam Puckett would dub insane, and that's where you recognize that strange grin from. It's so un-Sam-like it almost scares you out of doing this.

But it doesn't.

You push yourself up and sit Indian style, and she draws her legs in, too. Her eyes are aimed down at your lap; she can't seem to look into yours. She probably feels so awkward doing this, compared to how excited and nervous and insanely thankful you are.

You drink in how she looks with the golden light of your night table lamp painting across her skin all smooth and glowing, and you can see the television light flickering on her lips after she swipes her tongue across them, and in the wet of her eyes. You glance at the clock, 11:03 greeting you in highlighter golden-orange.

She finally looks up at your face, agonizingly slow, and when she meets your eyes you can't hear anything but your heartbeat.

You wait for her to begin snorting or cracking up, but instead she leans in, forehead first, and then she tips up her chin. And you don't want to be a complete wuss, so you force yourself to lean, too, and your heart is beating and thumping hard and fast in places you really didn't know it could reach.

Sam's lips are soft on yours, in the fleshy way lips are, but they elicit electricity from every nerve, every cell, and every limb you can possibly imagine right now. You've heard of this reaction in movies and novels; you've just experienced fireworks.

You can feel the hard wall of Sam's teeth behind her tentatively pressing lips, and you're other senses begin catching up. You smell the pineapple thermal protection spray you coated her hair with before you straightened it for her, and it already smelled good even before she was wearing it. Your hormones really seem to like it anyway, because you find yourself taking an unexpected initiative when you lift your hand and your fingertips slide up her arm and she jumps a little bit, but you land on her shoulder and she sighs against your face through her nose.

You inhale again and you feel you're heart beat fleeting in your throat, quick, weightless beats like your trachea is zero gravity and the muscle is up in the stars, and you're tongue is swiping against the closed seam of Sam's lips, and as corny as it is, the mental image of a credit card in action at a cash register hits you.

After a particular beat, Sam's mouth is open and you don't realize it until _her _tongue is in _your _mouth and navigating around in space, and wow you're stupid.

Having another person's tongue in your mouth feels kind of weird, it being a separate muscle you're not controlling invading a place you know so well, and vice versa, but since it's Sam's and she's drawing hers around yours all slow and careful you decide it's pleasurable. Extremely pleasurable.

You realize how you guys didn't set a time limit, and you begin brainstorming ways to prolong this with Sam for as long as you can.

You're other hand floats up into the curve of her waist lightly, and you slide the hand that's on her shoulder into the mass of hair tickling it, and god, you're making out with Sam!

You run your hands all the way down her hair, still amazed at its sleek softness, and it feels as though you're the only one doing anything for what seems like half an hour. At first you even find it difficult to move your tongue and your hand in the same way you're incapable of rotating one fist forward, away from you and the other backward and toward you, but you decide to concentrate on your tongue and the feeling of her impossibly long and soft hair through your fingertips renewing itself every five seconds feels great, for some reason.

It's your turn to jump when you feel something on the lowest low of your back, almost your butt but not quite, and then another something running up your arm and suddenly that arm is cold-ish and tingly, and you realize you're actually breaking out in goose bumps.

And Sam is kissing you _back_.

You're now over the fact that her tongue is in your mouth, and you're racking your brain for something interesting to do with it. You're pretty sure you guys are copying the average French kiss in any movie you've ever seen. You ask yourself what would feel good to you right about now, and you somehow manage to pull away but not enough to signal any ending to the kiss, and you skim your bottom teeth over Sam's bottom lip as soft as you possibly can.

She gives this forced breath that you can nearly hear grind against her larynx and you completely lose it for a second, at how that little stupid thing you did nearly made her vocalize and you're insanely curious to make her do just that.

When you regain your head at least a little bit, you go to re-enter your tongue into Sam's mouth but she beat you to it, and you're chest is bursting open with pride when you realize she's pulling you on top of her, and god, her legs are so _smooth_ and it's funny how they slide against yours like butter.

Your tongue is getting a little more dominant against hers, and you begin pushing it against hers a little harder. Of course, it being Sam, she naturally fights right back and you're full of adoration from head-to-toe for this girl. The thought to stop hits you, as you realize this is much, much different for Sam than it is for you, with all you're attraction and heavy feelings.

But hey, when are you ever getting this chance again? That question marquees through your mind sadly, so you just keep kissing and shove it back out.

Since you're the one on top, you focus on being dominant, which in turn only makes Sam more dominant and she's slowly toppling you over and her weight is now on you, somehow you guys stay connected, and you like this. You just do.

The hand you were trailing around Sam's waist lands beside your head and you're shocked frozen, shivers and all when her palm finds your elbow and slides gingerly up to your wrist. It stays there, and she plucks the other one out of her hair and it feels like eternity until that one lands on the other side of your head, gentle as a butterfly's landing, and Sam is _pinning you down to the bed. _

Offhandedly you wonder which movie she saw that in or where else she could have learned that, and her tongue rounds in your mouth with a surge of power.

It hits you that Sam may possibly be enjoying this.

You try lifting your arms up from her grasp, but she just tightens it and you don't care what the chances of her cutting off your circulation are because honestly she can do just as much by glancing at you from across the room anyways.

Some part of your brain is still focused on breaking out of Sam's grasp, and that transmits to your torso and suddenly you're hips raise up into her before you're ready for it, and she just presses back, and that really didn't help the throbbing, but obviously there's nothing that will when you're in this position with Sam Puckett.

You want to do something, even though you kind of understand Sam wants to do everything right now, so you just relax and let her.

You're mind begins wandering, and the first thought that hits you is that she planned this, no matter how convincing the innocent, naïve act she put on was.

And the second of free thinking ends quickly because the warmth of Sam's grip leaves your left arm and roams down your side, and just runs up and down like it's a stuck CD and through your aroused haze you wonder how far Sam wants to go.

Better yet, how far do you want to go?

Sam's hand stops its looped path, and her finger tips are sliding over to your belly button, and it's such a light touch you barely feel it, but then again it's burning into you.

When the pads of her fingers connect with your skin, you can't really think anymore, just feel, and you wonder what she thinks of you. Right now it seems more crucial than ever.

Sam rips her tongue out of your mouth, and you're eyes fly open, startled, and then you find her lips in a new form against your neck, kind of like what you wanted to do to her earlier. You relax at the fact she hasn't left you yet.

You're eyes fall closed again, and you feel her lips around your jugular, and yeah, she definitely planned this.

Eventually you're mesmerized by the rhythm she's using on you, and you can follow it like the beat of a drum as her other hand joins her in the raiding of your stomach.

Suddenly, she speeds up with her mouth, and decides to use her fingernails to skate against your hip bones.

You hear Sam's name leak into the air from some hoarse, breathy source and when you realize it came from you it somehow exhilarates you even further.

But then the moist warmth is gone from your neck and her hands are snaking out from under your shirt, just as they were edging up around your ribs.

Your eyes open to Sam's face directly above you, her eyes widened and a little surprised or something, with her cheeks completely flushed into her neck. You have a _very_ agreeable view all the way down her shirt and you watch as her the small swell of her chest heaves towards you and away from you. You immediately regret not exploring _that _part of her. For some reason, she stopped, but you're pretty sure it wasn't just to stare at you from her position on all fours, with a bird's eye view type of range.

"Why did you stop?" You're notice how out of breath you happen to be, too, but your voice has another quality to it, a raspiness you really don't recognize.

"I—uhh—well, I pretty much understand what to do," She says, a little dumbly.

"Oh, right. Okay. Yeah." You have to shut yourself up.

Sam climbs off of you and takes an unnecessary step away from your bed, on which you lay with your hands right up by your head where she left them. You suddenly find the position toxic and scramble to your butt, with your legs dangling off the side of the bed.

Sam is gazing at you in awe, and you're staring at her ankles. Every inch of her is attractive, you conclude subconsciously.

You look up to her slightly parted lips and her eyes are already beaming into yours attentively when you get there.

You and Sam haven't shared a moment between each other that was this awkward, never, ever before, not even with all the silent treatments after all the fights, not even after one of you ran out of the studio in the middle of an iCarly episode.

You both refuse to look away, and you can feel her screaming at you from her eyes that what just happened was really not planned.

But it was, wasn't it?

-

**Right, so this can obviously never happen according to the fact that there were no real undertones of Cam in the new episode whatsoever:[ , hence why it's in fanfiction. It's not the deepest idea, but I was too inspired by iMake Sam Girlier not to write something about it. I **_**loved**_**Jenette McCurdy with straight hair! Lol, but yeah, just a one shot, doubt I'm continuing it unless someone has a suggestion they would love to see.**

**P.S.: Where did all the Cam writers go?? :[**

**P.P.S.: I don't own iCarly **


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